Mark of the Witch

by Maggie Shayne

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go make a pot of strong coffee and bring you some carbs to go with it. You need to ground some of that energy you absorbed, anyway.”

  “Sweet carbs, please,” I said with a smile. “If I’ve got a good excuse to eat them, they might as well be packed with sugar.”

  Rayne nodded. “That’s what I always say. Be right back, hon.”

  She left me alone. My hands were shaking as I lifted the rolled-up bundle and carefully untied the strand of leather that held it together. I moved in slow motion as I gently unrolled the parchment pages. There were a dozen, give or take, and I smoothed them onto my lap, holding both ends to keep them from curling right back up again.

  At first all I could do was frown down at the lines and shapes that seemed entirely nonsensical to me. But as I kept staring at the pages my eyes went out of focus, and the symbols blurred and shifted…and became the letters of my own alphabet, words in my own language. And I began to read.

  Did I ever really think magic wasn’t real? How could I have been so blind?

  * * *

  “Here,” Dom said, picking up a glass of whiskey over ice and handing it to Tomas. “Drink it, you’re going to need it.”

  Tomas had come into the den looking for Dom, mentally preparing himself to break the news. But now that he was face-to-face with the man who’d chosen him as his own successor, trained him for the job, ordained him personally and practically raised him to boot, words failed him. So he took a deep pull from the glass, crossed the room and, bracing one arm against the darkly stained window frame, stared outside. “It’s starting to rain.”

  “Seasons are changing,” Dom said. “Going to be nasty for the next few days. Creek was already high from that last big storm, too.”

  Tomas took another drink, draining it this time.

  Dom walked up beside him, pouring in a little more. “What I said before, it shocked you,” he said.

  “Then you really did say it?” Tomas asked. “I’ve been telling myself I must have heard you wrong, or that you were speaking figuratively or…shit, I don’t know what. Something. Anything.”

  “Believe me, I understand. But I have always known it would come to this, Tomas. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think you were ready to hear it. And then…with this alignment, and the Demon forcing us to act… Hell, Tomas, I thought I’d have more time to prepare you—”

  “For murder?” Tomas asked, turning to pin him with his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re actually asking me to take a life, much less her life! You’re a priest, for God’s sake.”

  Dom didn’t even flinch, only sipped his drink and paced away. “This is a test of your faith, Tomas. It’s not me asking you to do this. It’s God. And He’s not asking. He’s commanding.”

  “No.”

  “Just the way He commanded Abraham to sacrifice his child, Isaac. I told you that earlier.”

  Tomas turned away, remembering again the shiver of unease that had tiptoed up his spine at that comparison. It had been an inner knowing. He should have listened to it. “Well, you were right to think I wasn’t ready. I will never be ready for…that.”

  Dom moved closer and put a hand on Tomas’s shoulder, but Tomas flinched away from his touch. “Sometimes, my son, drastic measures are necessary. A single life is not as valuable as the thousands, perhaps millions, that could be lost should the Demon make his way through the Portal into the world of man. My God, Tomas, do you think this mission, this quest, has been handed down from one holy man to the next for three thousand five hundred years for nothing?”

  The man was nuts, Tomas thought. His mind was completely gone. “I think you’ve been too focused on the…mission for too long, Dom. I think maybe—I think maybe this whole thing has had an impact, mixed things up in your mind a little.”

  “I’m not insane.”

  Tomas stared at Dom, not blinking, looking him dead in the eye to show his old friend his sincerity. His honesty. His concern. “You’re talking about committing murder.”

  “Sacrifice. For the greater good.”

  “It’s murder.” Maybe if he just kept repeating it?

  “She’s going to hell otherwise. She’s a witch, Tomas. But giving her life for this noble cause, to save her fellow man from the claws of the Demon—it might very well be the only way she can escape damnation. You’d be saving her soul!”

  “Her soul? It’s her soul you’re worried about? What about yours? What about mine, Dom?”

  Dom held his gaze. “You killed her once already.”

  He flinched, because that blow hit home.

  “It’s your destiny, Tomas. It’s your fate. You have to do this.”

  “I refuse. And I’m done with this. Whatever this demon does, he does. If God wants to stop him, He’s powerful enough to do it without my help, and without murdering an innocent woman.” He swallowed hard and set the half-empty tumbler down, wanting to keep his head clear. “And I might as well tell you, I’ve put in a request to leave the priesthood, and I’ve requested dispensation from the vow of celibacy.”

  “She’s corrupted you!” Dom accused, wide-eyed, trembling now with rage. “I knew it! I knew she was bewitching you with her—”

  “You know nothing. I did this before I even met her.” Tomas picked up the drink again, then slammed the glass back onto the table without taking a sip. He didn’t need liquid courage. The more he thought on this, the more certain he was. “This is over now, Father Dom. You can stay until morning. Then I want you out of here. And I want you to know, I think you need help, and I’m going to do everything in my power to see that you get it.”

  Dom sipped his own drink, nodding slowly. “I hope you’re prepared for the repercussions of your actions, Tomas. To turn your back on a sacred calling, a task for which you were handpicked by God Almighty—you risk divine retribution, my son. And I would just as soon be far from you when it begins to unfold.” Another sip drained the glass, and he set it down, then, turning, left the den.

  Tomas sank onto the sofa. His body felt weak and yet, somehow, lighter. Like he’d been traveling uphill with a thousand-pound sack over his shoulder and had finally decided to just put it down.

  Just put it down.

  He closed his eyes, eyed his half-empty glass, thought about refilling it and getting good and drunk, but he couldn’t even summon the energy to get up off the leather sofa to find the whiskey. He was emotionally and spiritually drained.

  He found himself sliding forward from the couch, dropping heavily to his knees, folding his hands and lowering his head. He tried to pray, but when he moved his lips, no sound emerged. His throat closed tight, his eyes burned with tears he hadn’t known were waiting to spill over, and his chest heaved when they finally did.

  “Just show me what to do, Lord,” he muttered when he managed to speak. “Send me a sign. Something. Anything.”

  The cell phone chirped. The wind outside howled. A low rumble of thunder came over the horizon. It was going to storm like hell. The bridge would wash out again for sure. He looked at the caller ID. Private. No matter, he picked it up.

  “This is Tomas Petrosa,” he said.

  Static… “—ation…for Divine Worship…”

  “Congregation for Divine Worship?” he asked. “Yes, yes. I didn’t expect you to get back to me so soon.”

  “got…your…quest.”

  “You got my request, yes. Good.”

  “…fusion.”

  “I’m sorry? You’ll have to speak up, and talk slowly. There’s a storm coming in and you’re breaking up pretty badly.”

  “You…not a priest.”

  He blinked, lifted his chin, swallowed hard. “I’m not a priest. Am I understanding you correctly?” Could it be over and done that easily? Wouldn’t there be more to it than just—

  “You never were.”

  The static had suddenly cleared. The words came through crisp and perfectly audible. “What does that mean?”

 
“We have no record of your ordination. You don’t need the dispensation or the release. There are no vows to break, as far as the Church is co…erned. It…on’t…oh…ee…at—”

  Silence. He glanced at the screen. Dropped Call.

  He felt…numb. He didn’t know what to make of what he’d just been told. Had there been a paperwork snafu?

  Then he looked at the closed door and knew better. For the love of God, could this possibly have been one more of Father Dom’s manipulations?

  It was entirely possible, he realized. Dom had yanked him out of seminary, told him he was needed, chosen by God for a mission so important he’d been granted special dispensation to…

  “To ordain me himself. Oh, my God. It was never real. It was never real....”

  He put down the phone and sat there for long moments, staring into nothingness. He didn’t feel regret. He didn’t feel sadness. He felt…empty, confused about who and what he was, if he wasn’t a priest. At the same time, he felt…relieved. And guilty for feeling relieved.

  A tap came on the closed door of the den.

  He lifted his head slowly and pulled himself to his feet, checking to be sure his eyes were dry before going to the door and pausing for a moment with his hand on the knob before pulling it open.

  Indy was standing there. She’d put on blue pajamas with bunnies all over them. Her hair looked like she’d been running her hands through it repeatedly. She had a giant plateful of assorted cookies surrounding two glasses of milk in one hand and the parchment scrolls in the other. He looked from the cookies to the scrolls to her face.

  She was smiling as she said, “It’s going to be okay, Tomas. I know what happened now. This has all been a terrible mistake.”

  Send me a sign, he’d prayed. He’d thought the phone call had been his answer. But no. Now he thought maybe his sign was wearing bunny pajamas, and carrying cookies and milk.

  “So? You gonna let me in so I can tell you about it?”

  He looked into her eyes. They were so familiar. This was just the way he imagined an old man felt when he looked into the eyes of the woman he’d spent his entire life loving. It felt that intimate, that deep, that real.

  That old.

  He opened the door wider. “Never could resist cookies and milk.”

  “Why the hell do you think I brought them?” she asked with a grin. She came into the den, kicked the door closed behind her and set the plate on the table, frowning at the glasses and the whiskey bottle that were already there. “That’s a really bad idea, Tomas.”

  “I know.”

  “We need to stay sharp, stay alert, until we make it through this.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, even if the demon isn’t really the villain you think he is, he’s still powerful. Maybe dangerous.”

  “The demon’s not a villain?” he said.

  “Not even a real demon, I think. But he still thinks we’re the enemy. Or that you are, at least.”

  “Well, he’s got that right.”

  “But you’re not. You’ll see.” She sat down on the sofa and unrolled the scrolls. “I’m going to tell you a bedtime story, Tomas. And I want you to listen with a completely open mind. Can you do that? Can you forget all Father’s Dom’s indoctrination and pretend you know nothing about any of this as you hear the truth?”

  Frowning, Tomas sank onto the leather sofa next to her. “What makes you so sure it’s the truth?”

  “It was written by an eyewitness.”

  He blinked, stunned, part of him wondering if she was as crazy as Father Dom. But no. He knew better. He’d seen her power with his own eyes.

  Then again, he’d seen Dom’s, too, with that possessed little girl. Power did not necessarily indicate sanity. Good tip to remember.

  He reached for a handful of Oreos and one of the glasses of milk. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’ll do my best. I’m listening, Indy. Talk to me.”

  * * *

  “I’ve already read every line of this tale,” I told Tomas, making myself comfortable. I turned and leaned back against the arm, curling my legs beneath me, and though I unrolled the sheets of parchment, I didn’t intend to read them to him. I didn’t have to. “It’s a bit under twenty pages, and there’s a lot of extraneous information. Not to me, of course. It’s all important to me. I figured out about halfway through that I knew the next line, the next word, before I read it. And I realized that was because I was the one who had written it.”

  His eyes popped open, and he sat up quickly. “You wrote it?”

  “In that other lifetime. I trust it.”

  “All right,” he said.

  “I was Indira then, too. Indira, daughter of the potter, at first, and later, once I was taken with my sisters into the royal harem, I was known only as the King’s Indira.”

  He nodded, and he didn’t lean back again but instead leaned forward for another cookie, his eyes on me, eager, but also a little bit fearful. “Go on.”

  “My sisters were Magdalena and Lilia. Lilia was the king’s favorite, but she fell in love with his first lieutenant.”

  He lifted his brows. “Like Lancelot and Guinevere.”

  “Exactly like that. But the ending takes its own turn. His name was Demetrius.”

  I gave a quick look around me as I said the name aloud for the first time, half expecting some sort of repercussion to speaking the name that ‘must not be spoken.’ But nothing happened. And I thought again that Tomas’s mission was all bullshit propaganda, perpetrated by a long line of so-called holy men.

  “Magdalena and I tried hard to protect the two of them from being found out. But I never told my sisters about my own secret liaison with a young Priest of Marduk, the sun god, whose name I never wrote down, for fear someone would find him out and punish him.”

  He stared into my eyes.

  I stared right back, then lowered mine to read a passage. “‘He loved me like no man has ever loved. I never doubted it. And I loved him just as fiercely. And yet our love, like my sister’s, was forbidden.’” Hot tears came to my eyes as old, old emotions rose up in my heart. I couldn’t look him in the eyes just then.

  “Someone ratted out my sister and her lover. Soldiers raided the harem quarters and caught them together. Demetrius fought to protect her—to protect all of us—but he was outnumbered, and in the end we were all arrested. As they searched our quarters and questioned our harem mates, they learned another secret we’d been keeping.”

  He searched my eyes, riveted by the story.

  “We were practicing magic. Witchcraft. And that was strictly forbidden. Only the high priest of the Temple, Sindar, was allowed to cast and conjure. He was the one who said that we should be offered as sacrifices to Marduk to appease his anger. Demetrius, when he heard what our fate would be, broke free of his chains and went on a rampage. He killed the king, along with several of his soldiers, and was beaten nearly to death by the rest.”

  Tomas closed his eyes, lowered his head. “Poor bastard.”

  I knew then that he had no idea what I would tell him as my story went on.

  I lowered my head, flipping pages that were filled with what no doubt appeared to him to be ancient symbols and glyphs but were, to me, as clear as they had been on the day I’d written out my tale. “The high priest loved the king beyond all others. I wrote that I always suspected it was the same sort of love I felt for my young priest and just as forbidden, but that Sindar would never admit that, even to himself. Still, he was determined to inflict the worst sort of punishment he could imagine on Demetrius for killing his beloved king.”

  Tomas nodded. “He was the man who was forced to watch while the three of you were executed, wasn’t he?” he asked.

  “Yes. But that was kind compared to what Sindar had in store for him next. He was sentenced to be cursed. Immediately after we were pushed from the cliff to our deaths on the rocks below, Demetrius was to be taken into a dark cave by Sindar alone, where he would undergo a s
pell that would strip the soul from his body. Then his throat was to be cut. His soulless spirit was sent to the Underworld, where he would be held captive in the land of the dead forevermore. His stolen soul would be destroyed in an elaborate ritual that the high priest would perform solo.”

  Tomas’s eyes widened. Yeah. He was starting to get it now.

  “No one bothered keeping their intentions secret. I think Sindar liked us all knowing what was going to happen to us. Torturing us with the knowledge. Torturing Demetrius by letting him know Lilia would be killed. Torturing Lilia by letting her know Demetrius would be sentenced to a fate far worse than death. Eternity in darkness.”

  “It’s hideous,” Tomas whispered.

  “My sisters and I made a plan. We cast a spell of our own, and we meditated and focused all our will on carrying it out, not even knowing if it would work. When we crossed the veil between life and death, the instant our bodies hit the rocks below the cliff and our souls were torn from them, we planned to fly into that dark cave and snatch Demetrius’s soul before Sindar could destroy it. We intended to divide it between us, hiding it within whatever sacred objects we could find—because a soul needs to be bound to the physical realm to keep it from being reabsorbed into the whole. We planned to then bind the objects to ourselves, taking them with us into the afterlife, where they would remain until we called them forth again in a future lifetime.”

  He was blinking as if exposed to a sudden bright light. “And did you succeed?”

  I shrugged. “I couldn’t very well have written it down if we had, since I would have been dead by that point. But I do know that the entire plan hinged on the help of one living being. The man I loved, the young priest. You, Tomas. I had planned to give you a vial containing three drops of my blood and three drops of the blood of each of my sisters, and ask that you somehow get it into that cave to enable our spirits to find our way there so we could accomplish our task.”

  He closed his eyes. “It’s doubtful I did it, though. I couldn’t have pushed you from that cliff if I truly loved you, Indy.”